


The Skeleton War: A Novel

by wickedskeleton



Category: The Skeleton War
Genre: The Skeleton War - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:19:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2472938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedskeleton/pseuds/wickedskeleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick is just your average skeletal being, who knows how to chill, play the sax and nothing more. But as October 2014 rolls around, Patrick discovers the true hardship of being a skeleton, and the true journey his life is set to entail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Golden leaves had begun to fall abruptly off the tree branches and the air gradually grew morbidly colder. It was October 2014, and the world had another thing coming. Tumblr users innocently reblogged incomprehensible skeleton gifs, unaware of their true meanings, and the memers began to proclaim The Skeleton War as yet another mere meme, aggravating fellow brave skeletons, who proudly stated, "This is not a meme. This is war. You should not be disrespectful to those who are willing to fight."

The signs of war became obvious when the month of October rolled around; the skeletons began showing up everwhere and people began to fret, though they needn't do so. The Skeleton War initiated a society of rogue skeletal beings whom were to devote their life to the cause. Skeletons dragged themselves from deep within the dirt and carried their skeletal bodies, their saxophones and their pretty wicked dance moves to this new order, so that the process of betterment could proceed. 

Of course, the society needed both a name and a leader. Suggestions popped up left right and centre, yet most missed the blatantly obvious. The one true leader of them all, the ultimate skeletal warrior, he who should guide us all through such troublesome times, the one who is kind of a loser and plays ukulele for that stupid band. That's right, Tyler Joseph. And his right hand man, Josh Dun. And their disciples: The Skeleton Clique.

This novel entails the life of a regular skeleton, Patrick, who found his true meaning in life as October 2014 arose. This is a story of his hardship, his friendship, and most importantly: The Skeleton War.


	2. Late September

  
I cannot tell you who I once was, for I am no longer them. You need not know who I was in the flesh, you need only to know who I am in the bone. My name? Patrick. Currently, I am buried six feet under, encased in a wooden box of sorts, piled under heaps of dirt. And, fellow reader, I am to admit to you how I feel right now. I feel really bored, to be honest. I tried playing I spy in here, only to remember I have no eyes.

  
There is a great possibility you are wondering how exactly it is I got here, and why I feel like it is my responsibility to tell you my story. Truth be, I cannot, not out of my own choice, tell you how it is I stumbled upon such a fate. So why am I telling you this? Because, reader, you have a lot to learn.

  
As of this moment, it is September 30th, and I have been here for approximately three weeks, dying of boredom. Haha, that was joke; I'm already dead. I hope you like my sense of humour because you will see a lot of it and come to understand I'm a pretty funny guy.

  
Anyway, as I was saying, it is September 30th, and I know that there is something brewing. Something peculiar and enchanting, that has never been seen before. Something big, really gosh darn big. I can feel it in my bones. I hope the mortal world is prepared for what is to come, I really do.

  
I begin mindlessly whistling a skeleton song, trying to enlighten my dull day, hoping that maybe a little sing song with myself will bring some form of enjoyment to this wooden box of unpromising fate. The tune slowly veers off into the song Anaconda by Nicki Minaj, and I smile jokingly at my funny self. All is funny, until I hear a noise. I can't comprehend the noise, so I just brush it off my shoulder and stare at the dark abyss of emptiness that is my coffin.

  
I feel like sleeping, too tired to keep my eyes open. Haha, I don't even have eyelids! But then, as I get to that stage of pre sleep where you contemplate life (yes, even if you are dead), I hear another noise yet again stirring from within the neighbouring grave, and a sudden wave of unease flutters through me like blood through a fleshy person, "Hello fellow grave dweller, are you enjoying your evening?" my voice catches in my throat and I tremble as I await their response.

  
The air is thick with the deadness of silence, and I shift uncomfortably around in my box, hoping for some kind of response. Moments later, I hear them groan, before responding, "October is coming."

  
I twist around in my confinement, my bones scraping against the wood, emitting a less than pleasant noise. I roll my eyes in discontent, "Yes, friend, I know that we are at the end of September and that October comes afterwards."

  
"No," the voiced grumbles in a husky, sleep deprived voice. I can hear their bones rattling against their box as they move, and I remain as immobile and quiet as I can, awaiting their reply. It is a long drawn out pause, but finally they speak, "October, the month where us, the skeletals, are pulled like dogs on leashes out of our resting places, and drafted into the war."

  
I laugh a short, skeleton laugh, my ribs clattering together as I do so, "You're out of your mind!" I muse, wondering if death had caused that fellow coffin occupant to displace his sanity.

  
"Laugh not, dear bone buddy, The Skeleton War is no joke," his tone turns serious, "tell me something, Patrick, does your gravestone say 'Rest In Peace'?"

  
I stop momentarily, pondering, not entirely sure what to say. After approximately twenty one seconds of painfully awkward silence, I say, "No, it doesn't. I'm pretty sure it says 'cool. wicked. could dance and play sax very well.'"

  
I hear him intake a considerably large amount of air, "Well then, friend, just like myself, you are to be drafted into The Skeleton War. As soon as clock strikes midnight, they will come for us."

  
And just then, the clock struck midnight


End file.
